


Split

by pauraque



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: pornish_pixies, Cross-Generation Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, Fanwork of Fanwork, Legilimency, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-28
Updated: 2005-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom can make everyone do what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Split

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Double Penetration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/304326) by [hannelore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannelore/pseuds/hannelore). 



> For the Fans-For-Fans Challenge at Pornish Pixies. A companion piece to Hannelore's delicious (and inspiring!) story "Double Penetration".

'I've just been in Divination, sir,' Tom says, sliding his hand into Dumbledore's cool, dry one. 'Shall I read your palm?'

There was a time when Dumbledore's gaze would have softened, and he would have let Tom trace the creases of his hand. And Tom would have known to come up the winding staircase after dark (the railing was high for him to reach then; he'd be out of breath when he got to the top), and they would go into the Headmaster's airy bedroom.

Now Dumbledore's eyes are cold and closed as blue rune-stones, and he draws his hand away. 'I mustn't keep you,' he says, and the polite grace of it is maddening.

*

Slughorn's mind is jungle-steamy, sticky cobwebs pulling apart in strings. It's not hard for Tom to get in without Slughorn really noticing; he just has to be careful not to step on any bruised spots, not to push past the maze of feverish walls. Tom wonders what all these things are that Slughorn wants to forget, but now is not the time.

Tom knows how his body arouses Slughorn. He knows his professor dreams of hipbones and shoulderblades, of Tom's pleasure-twisted _face_ — knit dark eyebrows, mouth gaping like a fish. Tom watches what Slughorn does when he thinks of Tom that way, his bedchamber too hot to sleep. Slughorn finds it uncomfortable to reach around the bulk of his stomach, and instead rubs himself against a silk-covered pillow clutched between his thighs. The cool fabric is smooth heaven on the hot skin of his cock as he ruts against it. He strokes his belly with teasing fingers, then rubs it harder as he gets off, his knees coming up convulsively.

Tom watches all this with fascination from his own bed several floors away, and touches himself idly, pensively, as Slughorn drifts off to a satisfied sleep.

*

The view from the Headmaster's chambers was dizzying. Tom would gaze down from the latticed window at the tiny people inching through the snow, at the doll's-house shops in Hogsmeade with tiny smoking chimneys. The soles of his feet tingled with vertigo, but he thirsted for that view.

Dumbledore came up behind him and placed his hands on Tom's bare shoulders, then slid them down to cross over Tom's chest, pulling him close. Tom felt the velvet of Dumbledore's robes against his back.

In retrospect, Tom wonders if Dumbledore was afraid he was going to jump.

*

After he has told him about Horcruxes, Tom knows with deep, peaceful certainty that there is nothing he can't make Slughorn do.

'I want it, Professor,' Tom gasps, arching against him like a cat. He's watching Slughorn's reactions carefully. 'I can't bear it anymore. I want you to take me. I want your— your—' He reaches out, lets his fingertips brush against the underside of Slughorn's fat red prick. He sees the resolve crumble in Slughorn's watery gaze.

Tom watches it through Slughorn's eyes — watches himself straddle those broad thighs, his own prick bouncing stiffly as he reaches down and guides the slick cock into him. Slughorn thinks he is taking Tom's virginity now, and it amuses Tom how close that brings the man to orgasm. Tom sinks slowly down to the hilt of Slughorn's cock, stopping every couple of inches with a shudder and a gasp at how it stretches him. (Dumbledore buggered him much deeper than this, but Slughorn doesn't know that.) Tom fists the bedsheets and tilts his head back — yes, that's good, Slughorn likes the whiteness of his throat.

Tom runs his palms over the soft, bulging belly before him, and leans forward to kiss it, his eyes never leaving Slughorn's face. Slughorn groans like a wounded animal as he comes helplessly, jerking up so hard into Tom's arse that he feels the shock all the way up his spine. Slughorn may be big, but he is _small_ beneath Tom Riddle, a doll on strings.

When Slughorn's done, Tom raises off and then slides up close beside him. Lets the fat warm hand encircle his prick, as Slughorn likes to do.

'Always know just what old Sluggy wants, don't you.' There's a bit of a chuckle in the man's voice.

Tom laughs with delight as he ejaculates into Slughorn's hand. He's looking at the silk-covered pillow propped up at the head of the bed, freshly cleaned.

*

When Slughorn's eyes pass over him in class the next morning, Tom can feel the niggling seeds of discomfort growing in the man's mind, flush-warm and bruised.

Tom has never understood guilt.

*

Dumbledore's mind is cool and smooth like a high-domed palace, everything in its place. It reminds Tom of a time long ago when he was in a museum, his footfalls echoing through the galleries, and severe, uniformed watchmen keeping a close eye. Dumbledore knows when Tom is looking inside, but he lets him.

'I made him fuck me.' Tom says it out loud, sitting cross-legged on his bed. He likes the taste of it in his mouth.

 _I know,_ says Dumbledore in his mind.

'Wasn't anything like you, of course.'

Dumbledore doesn't answer, but Tom can feel him listening, like the sensation of someone staring hard at the back of your head.

'I was thinking earlier that his prick wasn't as big as yours, but then I realised I might just think that because I was smaller then.'

Tom feels Dumbledore recoil, and smiles.

'I still think of it, you know. The way you took me. On my back, feet up in the air. For some reason—' Tom lies back on his pillow, gazing up at the ceiling. '—what I remember most is the metalwork on the head of your bed. The way it felt when I held onto it while you buggered me. Rough and cold. Left these red creases on my palms I'd look at afterwards.' Tom's prick is hard, and he can feel the tingle of Dumbledore's arousal as well.

Tom says this part only in his mind: _I wonder if it'd feel the same._

'Too old for you now, am I?' Tom says aloud after a pause, unsure for a moment whether Dumbledore is still listening.

 _You cannot make everyone do what you want,_ the Headmaster says, and then he is gone.

*

Tom fists his cock angrily, hating both of them for bringing him to this. He finishes it quickly, then lies there fuming, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He can make everyone do what he wants.

He knows it.


End file.
